You Belong with Me
by Zivacentric
Summary: Episode tag & spoilers for "Psych Out" Season 9x16 . Things aren't working out between Gibbs & Dr. Ryan, leading to a conversation between Ziva & Gibbs in his basement. Can Gibbs realize with whom he really belongs & actually do something about it?
1. Hopes and Hints

_A/N: Much to my surprise, another episode tag plot bunny took up residence in my brain and refused to leave. I'm fairly certain that had to do with the fact that it was well-fed - one might even say bribed - with soft, thick, delicious brownies from certain parties. I shall refrain from pointing fingers, but you know who you are. :p_

_There is one more chap to this that is already written and will be posted soon. Also, for those of you following "Brewed Awakenings," the next chap for that will hopefully be up without much further delay, as well._

_This one is for Sarah Withers, gosgirl, Bamacrush, iyimgrace, WithTheGrain, Sehrezad, LauraEve24 and writingjustforfun for the encouragement and hand-holding, not only for this one, but also for the couple other episode tags that are likely coming down the pike unless I can drop-kick those bunnies outta here ... =)_

_I would also l like to officially welcome USAFChief to my fan fic world, even if he can't quite believe he's here. :p It's a pleasure having you along for the ride._

_Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me" also served as loose inspiration for this tag. If you don't know that song, you might want to listen to it. It really works for me in this context, though this isn't a songfic. All the usual disclaimers apply for that song and for NCIS._

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><p>Ziva stood just outside the doorway to Gibbs' basement listening to him finish his phone conversation. Part of her felt guilty for essentially eavesdropping, but the topic of the conversation was the reason she was here in the first place so she stayed where she was. Besides, her heart had nudged her to see if he was okay and she couldn't very well do that if she left.<p>

"Yeah, you do that, Dr. Ryan," he muttered into the phone, managing to make her title sound like a taste of bad fish. "See you around."

With that, he hung up the phone, turned it off, and tossed it onto his workbench before adding one last comment to himself, albeit out loud.

"Or not."

He walked back to his project to begin sanding again on the rocker he was building for Leyla's front porch.

After a moment, he called out, "You coming down, Ziver, or are ya just gonna stand there?"

She startled a bit, then shook her head at herself. Of course he'd known she was up here; he always knew stuff like that.

Slowly, she walked down the steps, then across the room to lean her back casually against his workbench, her hands braced on either side of her hips. Neither of them spoke at first, which was not unusual. They were perhaps the two least talkative people on the planet – certainly on their team. The thing was, quiet between them never bothered either one of them. It felt … comfortable.

"Are you all right?" she eventually asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced at her, then back down at his work. "Fine. What makes you ask?"

She tilted her head toward the phone. "That is not the first … terse conversation I have overheard between you and Dr. Ryan in the last couple of days. That is why I came over, in fact; to see if you were all right."

"Like I said, fine," he answered somewhat abruptly.

"You do not sound completely fine," Ziva observed affectionately, lifting a challenging eyebrow as though daring him to disagree with her. "If you want to talk, I am happy to listen."

He snorted. "According to Ryan, I don't talk – that's a problem for her."

Ziva allowed a small smile. "I see."

There was silence for a moment. Then, he broke it. He wasn't completely surprised. He had a habit of doing that around Ziva – talking to her when he wouldn't have to most others. He had mostly gotten used to it, but it still bewildered him on occasion. Like this one.

"Seems like every time I turn around, she's asking me some question I don't even want to think about, let alone answer – even when I just asked her one." His tone made it completely clear what he thought of that.

"Now, that would be annoying," Ziva commiserated, perfectly serious.

He looked up at her as though trying to determine if she was serious or being cheeky. When it become obvious that she wasn't teasing, he felt some part of him relax. Huh. He hadn't even realized he was tense.

"She thinks she needs to date someone who isn't so repressed." The bad fish tone was back with that last word, forcing Ziva to bite back a grin.

"Shoulda known better than to go out with a shrink, anyway," he muttered, almost to himself. "Maybe I need to add that to Rule 13 – never involve a lawyer or a shrink."

Ziva's lips twitched. "There's an idea," she agreed.

He looked up this time to find a twinkle in her eye and his characteristic half-smile tugged unexpectedly at his lips. He refused to examine just why Ziva always had the ability to help him settle. With an internal snort, he figured if Dr. Samantha Ryan had been standing there, she'd have asked him how he felt about that.

Ziva turned around and emptied a couple of mason jars. Lifting his bottle of bourbon down, she took the liberty of pouring them each some. Strolling over to Gibbs, she handed him one. Walking back to the bench, she missed the way his eyes were checking out her backside on her return trip. _Damn, she had a fine ass._ Then he caught himself up short, like he always did. _Knock it off, Jethro. Rule 12 is there for a reason. And to her you're a close friend and a co-worker, nothing more._

At that moment, Ziva was so busy trying to keep her full reaction to this man hidden that she was oblivious to his thoughts. She repeated her usual mantra inside her head: _Rule 12. Rule 12. Rule 12. _She had become quite adept at hiding the true depth of her feelings for him over the years. However, when she felt like something was hurting him, her need to protect and comfort him sorely tried her control.

"So, why did you go out with her?" Ziva asked softly.

He mulled that over for a moment, then shrugged. "She asked. She's not all bad. Sometimes I want … company." He stopped short of saying _to get laid_, but his Ziver was a smart woman; she'd figure it out.

She did.

"So did you?" she asked daringly, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.

He gave her a level stare with his eyebrows raised archly. Ziva just returned the look all calm, cool and collected-like. On the outside, at least.

He honestly couldn't have said what prompted him to answer her, but something did. He shook his head.

"Didn't get that far," he revealed, looking at the project under his hands. He missed the way she relaxed at his response and the way she watched those hands at work. "Only went out a couple of times. Besides, she started getting on my nerves with her questions."

"Ah," Ziva responded. "It is difficult to get relaxed enough for … company when one is annoyed."

He looked up at her again to find her grin buried in her mason jar as she took a sip of the bourbon, but her brown eyes gleamed at him teasingly over the rim.

He snorted out loud again. But his own lips twitched.

"That the voice of experience talking, Ziver?" he pried, even as part of him was smacking himself upside the head internally for going down that road with her. This was dangerous territory considering if he could pick any one person to have as "company" and the consequences be damned, he'd choose her.

"Definitely," she admitted with feeling.

"Sounds like you and I both need to find better company," he joked warmly, glancing at her with twinkling eyes that were decidedly … _flirtatious_ - ?

Something moved through her brown eyes that he couldn't read – she wouldn't let him – then it was gone.

Sitting her now-empty jar deliberately on the bench beside her hip, she agreed. "Sounds like."

"Why'd you come here tonight?" he asked quietly, his tone and look shifting gears from teasing to probing as he watched her.

She shrugged lightly, her gaze focused on the floor near him as though she were considering her response. He let the silence stretch between them. Eventually, she filled it.

"Sometimes I have this urge to take care of you," she revealed honestly, softly. A wry smile ghosted across her lips as she glanced at him. "No annoyance intended."

He stilled, his hands resting on the arm of the rocker on which he'd been working. Warmth flooded his belly, but he kept that response to himself. If she only knew how much he secretly took pleasure in that, how much he wanted to take care of her, too …

"Like feeding me?" he questioned lightly, referring to her habit of inviting him over for dinner on a regular basis with the reasoning that it wasn't fun to cook for one person and they both had to eat, did they not?

She didn't have to know that he accepted because he enjoyed being alone with her, relished having her all to himself. After all, what she didn't know couldn't bite him in the ass.

"That is part if it," she admitted with a faint smile, leaving him to wonder what she wasn't saying.

He was intrigued by the light blush that stained her cheeks as she thought about her other reasons for having him over for dinner … reasons that involved her just wanting to be near him and providing fodder for her fantasies that there could be something more intimate between them than friendship and working together. Someday. Maybe. Hopefully.

She knew full well that it was not likely, but a girl could dream, yes?

"Can take care of myself," he pointed out, bringing her out of her reverie.

"I know," she agreed. "But that does not mean that you have to."

Pushing off the bench, she walked over to him and laid a hand gently on one of his strong forearms. Unconsciously, her thumb rubbed over his warm skin.

"I hope you find what you are looking for, Gibbs," she said softly, looking down at the contrast of her skin against his. "Someone who understands that you talk when it is most important; you are simply choosy with whom you do it."

_Someone like me. _Ziva resolutely shoved that thought to the back of her mind. When she was sure it was hidden once more, she raised her gaze to his and continued in a lighter vein.

"Someone who also knows that there is no crime in using as few words as possible when you do."

They shared a smile. Then, her eyes became unreadable again.

"Who knows? Maybe that person is closer than you realize," she suggested softly, her gaze still locked on his.

He felt like she was trying to tell him something important, but in that moment he couldn't fully open himself to the possibility that she might be talking about herself.

And as for her, she simply couldn't say anymore. There was too much to lose.

Stretching up on tip-toe, she pressed a very gentle kiss to his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. "Goodnight, Gibbs." Walking toward the stairs, she tossed over her shoulder, "You know where to find me if you if you need … anything."

Then she was gone.


	2. Exceptions and Happy Endings

_A/N: This is dedicated to all of you who reviewed Ch. 1, especially to those giving this pairing a try when they normally don't. =)_

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><p>A week later, Gibbs found himself knocking on Ziva's apartment door. His heart was beating faster than normal due to a cocktail of equal parts anticipation, dread and uncertainty running through his veins. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd either made the best or worst decision of his life in coming here tonight.<p>

He'd been thinking all week about her last visit to his basement and found he had some questions – and some urges - of his own that had finally nudged him to seek her out.

Ziva looked up from the book she was reading at the sound of the knock, her brows furrowed. She was not expecting anyone. The fact that no one had called up to her second-floor apartment from the intercom at the front security door suggested her visitor was someone from within her apartment building. However, while she was friendly with several of her neighbors, she mostly kept to herself when she was at home.

She placed her bookmark at the page she was reading and laid the book on her coffee table. Rising from her comfortable couch, she went to the door and looked through the peephole. She could not have been more taken aback to see Gibbs on the other side of her door, although the leap of her heart had very little to do with surprise and much to do with pleasure.

Quickly, she unlocked her door and opened it.

"Gibbs," she acknowledged him with a small smile. "I was not expecting you. Is everything all right?"

He'd been to her apartment before – more often than most people knew – but it was usually a planned thing that involved her fixing dinner for the two of them.

He gave her a ghost of his characteristic half-smile, along with a little nod.

"Hopefully," he responded enigmatically.

Her confusion was plain to read on her face.

"Please – come in," she invited, stepping back to open the door wider.

After he'd crossed the threshold, she relocked the door out of habit and took the casual jacket he was wearing. She took a moment to appreciate the sight of him in jeans and his black hoodie, then turned away to hang his coat on the stand near her door.

"May I get you something?" she offered.

More out of a desire to have something to do with his hands than any real thirst for the drink, he asked, "Got any bourbon?"

She gave him a small smile and a nod.

"Have a seat," she encouraged him. "I will get it."

He sat on the couch, consciously trying to relax his hands where they rested on his thighs while he waited for her to return from the kitchen. She was back soon, carrying a short glass with a generous splash of the amber-brown liquid he preferred for each of them.

"What brings you here tonight?" she asked, sitting near him on the couch with her body turned toward him and one leg tucked beneath her. Then she remembered that he hadn't rung up for her to let him in. "And how did you get in downstairs?"

"One of your neighbors recognized me as she was coming in and let me in behind her," he revealed, choosing to answer the easier of her questions first.

She made a small sound of _Oh_, then waited for him to get to her other question. Her curiosity was aroused as he seemed almost … unsure of himself. She never associated that with him.

Staring down at the glass in his hand, he swirled the liquid a little before taking a sip. _Find your backbone, Marine_ he said to himself. Given that neither of them was much for small talk, he went straight to the heart of the matter.

"Been thinking about some of what you said last week," he finally started. "Wanted to talk to you."

Her heart began to beat a little faster. This conversation could get very sticky.

"Oh?" she said nonchalantly, managing to pull off the tone.

He nodded.

"Got a confession to make," he started, still not looking directly at her.

When he didn't continue, she prompted him in a friendly manner. "Sounds rather serious. What is it?"

When he still didn't answer right away, she grew a little concerned.

"Gibbs? Whatever it is, you can trust me," she pointed out.

"I know," he responded. "Trust you more than most people. Talk to you more, too."

A feeling a warmth unfurled through her and she gave him another little smile.

"I am glad. It is the same for me with you," she admitted. "So, what is this confession of yours?"

"Sometimes I wanna take care of you, too," he finally said out loud.

That warmth became a positive heat wave that settled in her middle and made her stomach flip-flop.

"You do," she pointed out softly, "in too many ways to count."

"You do a better job," he informed her. Then, seemingly off topic, he added, "And by the way, you don't annoy me."

Then she remembered telling him that she didn't intend to be annoying in her urge to look after him.

The curve of her smile deepened with pleasure.

"I am glad," she murmured, taking a sip of her own drink.

"Last week we were talking about me wanting company sometimes," he continued. "You ever feel that way?"

"Sometimes," she admitted softly, avoiding his all-too-seeing eyes.

"Anyone special?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?" she evaded.

"'Cause I want to know," he stated the obvious, taking the fact that she wouldn't look at him as a good sign.

"Yes," she answered simply, taking the safe route of not saying anything else.

"So, why aren't you with him?" he asked softly, reaching over to lightly trace one finger over the hand she had resting on her knee.

"It is … complicated," she revealed after a moment, nearly undone by the feeling of his skin against hers.

"How?" he pushed.

_He has these rules about dating co-workers. Besides, I do not think he feels the same way about me._

Instead of saying what was running through her mind, she gave a shrug that telegraphed she knew the answer, but wasn't sure about sharing it.

"Maybe he should do something to uncomplicate it," he offered thoughtfully. "You'd be worth it."

She closed her eyes against the pang of longing she was afraid he would see there.

"I am not so sure about that," she whispered.

"I am," he returned firmly.

She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when his questions took a different tack.

"So, you really think someone who understands me could be close by already?" he asked after another short silence.

Her heart tripped. _Oh, God. _Forget relief or disappointment; try panic.

"Could be," she managed.

"How close?" he pressed, snagging her gaze.

She broke the eye contact by leaning forward to place her glass carefully on the table in front of the couch.

She gave another slight shrug as her answer, unsure of how to respond. She refused to lie to him, but it felt too risky to reveal that the person she was thinking of was sitting right next to him at this very moment.

"'Cause if she was really close," he continued while still tracing random designs over her hand in a very distracting manner, "I'd tell her I was thinking of changing another rule."

Last week he'd made an addition to Rule 13 … her mind raced as her heart rate kicked up even further. She couldn't help but leap to the possibility that he was referring to the rule she kept reminding herself not to break, no matter that the likelihood of that was undoubtedly too small to measure.

"Oh?" she repeated faintly, failing miserably in the nonchalant category this time. She cleared her throat gently. "Which rule would that be?"

"12," he answered succinctly, looking into her eyes, trying to find the answers he was hoping for.

She went completely still except for the jump of her pulse which he could actually see beating at the base of her throat. _Oo-rah._

A pregnant pause practically reverberated throughout the apartment.

"What if –" Ziva started, then stopped as her eyes skittered away from his. Bracing herself, she returned guarded eyes to his and took a leap. "What if she was sitting right beside you?"

His eyes warmed and an intimate smile curved his lips.

"Then I'd definitely tell her," he admitted.

"What changes did you have in mind?" she whispered, unable to look away from him this time.

"Adding an exception," he revealed. Putting his own drink down, he stopped drawing patterns on the back of her hand only to lace his fingers through hers. "For former Mossad officers."

She thought her heart might beat right out of her chest. A cautious but happy glow crept into her own eyes as she squeezed his hand tightly.

"You know, that is fairly broad," she pointed out softly. "Perhaps you should be a little more specific. After all, we would not want just any former Mossad officer up for consideration."

"Good point," he allowed, his eyes heating up. "Any ideas on that?"

"How about former Mossad officers who have become American citizens and happen to work at NCIS?" she suggested quietly, her gaze shifting to his mouth. "Oh, and are female."

"Narrows it down some," he agreed, his focus shifting to her lips in response to her look. He began pulling her closer with a gentle tug on her hand. "Maybe she should also work at the desk next to mine …" He tugged her even closer. "… and be absolutely beautiful …"

He was near enough now to nuzzle the side of her neck with his nose. She closed her eyes to better revel in the exquisite torture of having him so close, yet not exactly where she wanted him – not yet anyway.

"… and very kissable," he murmured against her skin, loving the way she was melting into him as though she couldn't help herself.

"How do you know she is very kissable?" she whispered in a husky voice.

"Goin' with my gut there," he revealed, still not lifting his lips from exploring the softness of her neck. "Maybe she'd let me run an experiment – ya think?"

"She would be foolish not to," she breathed, pulling just far away from his mouth somewhat reluctantly to look into his glittering blue eyes. Her tone took on a sultry quality, the sexy, teasing Ziva that never failed to jack his heart rate up suddenly making an appearance. "And I have never been accused of being foolish."

A full-blown grin with more than a hint of satisfaction stole across Jethro's face, pulling an answering smile from her.

"Well, then," he said, pulling her mouth toward his. "Let's experiment."

Ziva kept her eyes open until the instant before their lips met, half-afraid if she closed her eyes she would open them to find this was all a dream. Then his mouth was on hers and she couldn't think about anything but how very right and delicious that felt.

The kiss was soft and gentle at first, almost tentative. Slowly, they each grew bolder, more confident and the pressure increased delightfully. Their lips slid slowly over each other's …tasting … savoring. When she felt the tip of his tongue trace along her bottom lip, she couldn't help the low moan that left her throat as she opened her mouth to welcome him inside.

And suddenly, there was nothing at all tentative about this kiss.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her across his lap as they nearly devoured each other. Her fingers slid into his silvering hair at the nape of his neck. He gripped her hip with one hand and cupped her face with the other, his fingers spearing into her long, dark locks.

Finally, they parted to take in some much-needed oxygen, but their lips met once, twice more before she rested her forehead on his.

"So, did you learn anything?" Ziva asked when she could finally speak, her voice gone husky with desire.

"Definitely kissable," he decided with a roguish grin. "But I wouldn't say no to more research."

They kissed again because they just couldn't help it, but they somehow managed to be smiling at the same time.

This time when they pulled apart a little, Ziva buried her face in his throat, breathing the scent of him in.

"You are very kissable, too," she murmured as the butterflies in her stomach fluttered in a wild, happy dance. "I knew you would be."

His only answer was to press his lips to her forehead and slide both arms around her in an embrace that dared anyone to try to get between them.

After a moment, she spoke quietly.

"What made you come here tonight, Gibbs?"

It did not escape him that he had asked her the same question last week. He laid his cheek on the top of her head and ran one hand up and down her back before he answered.

"Like I said, been thinking about our last conversation in my basement," he shared. "The honest truth is if I could pick any person to be with without worrying about my rules or anything else, it'd be you." He paused for a moment. "There's always been something extra between us; got the impression last week maybe you feel it, too."

"I feel it," she admitted quietly, "but I have never been sure you have, not in the same way."

"I do, just spent the last seven years stuffing it into a box that said 'do not open,'" he revealed.

"I still do not understand what made you open it tonight," she pressed gently, wanting - _needing_ - to understand.

"You said you hoped I'd find what I was looking for," he reminded her. "Realized I already had. And if the only thing stopping me from reaching for it was my rule …" He shook his head at himself. "… that's a coward's way out."

"You are no coward," she promptly defended him firmly.

"Not usually," he agreed. "But … lot at stake here. Don't want to lose you altogether because I screw this up. I'm not easy to be in a relationship with, Ziva."

"And you think I am?" she asked archly.

"Easier than me," he asserted.

"Hmmm … perhaps we deserve each other," she offered, not altogether teasing, before pressing her mouth to his neck, scraping her teeth along his skin. She took great satisfaction in the fact that he swallowed hard and squeezed her more tightly.

"Think you deserve better," he disagreed, "but you said I should come to you if I needed anything. I do."

"What do you need?" she whispered, lifting her head to look at him.

"You," he answered succinctly, his eyes filled with emotion.

"I need you, too," she husked and pulled his mouth back to hers.

This time when they came up for air, he brushed her hair back and cupped her face in his hand once more, his thumb brushing back and forth along her jaw line.

"So, Special Agent David, will you go out with me?" he asked with a charming version of his characteristic smile.

"Yes, Special Agent Gibbs," she replied in kind with a delightful twinkle in her eye. "It would be my pleasure."

Satisfaction flared in his incredible blue eyes.

"How 'bout tomorrow?" he asked.

"How about tonight?" she suggested provocatively, sliding one hand under his black hoodie to feel his skin. "You could even stay for breakfast tomorrow ... if you wish."

On the outskirts of his mind, Gibbs wondered at the odds of being asked to breakfast by two beautiful women in as many weeks, but figured he'd keep that query to himself.

He responded to her touch by finding his way under her shirt, reveling in the gasp of pleasure she made that went right to his groin. A delicious thrill went through him when he discovered she wasn't wearing a bra.

"You make that offer to all your first dates?" he breathed against her throat, practically robbed of the ability to think by the silky smooth feel of her breast beneath his hand.

"No," she admitted breathlessly. "Perhaps I should make a confession of my own."

"Yeah?" he murmured, kissing his way up her neck with a maddening, yet wonderful lack of speed.

"Mmmm …" she hummed, though whether it was in affirmation of his question or appreciation of his kisses was unclear.

"All of those times I had you over for dinner?" She tilted her head, encouraging him to continue exactly what he was doing. "I sort of pretended they were dates without the kissing and the … company."

"Huh," he reflected. "Me, too."

A delighted laugh left her throat and she felt him smile against her skin. Pulling back, she looked into his face and traced a finger sensuously over his bottom lip.

"Please stay with me tonight," she invited in a husky voice, "even if we just hold each other while we sleep … though I will admit that I want you very, very much."

"Want you, too," he returned in a low, gravelly voice that sent shivers up her spine. He caught her gaze with his. "Sure you don't want to have a few real dates first? Make sure this is what you want?"

"I am already sure," she told him, clarity ringing in her tone. Then she had an attack of uncertainty. "But perhaps you are not?"

He immediately tightened his grip on her and kissed her brainless again.

"Wouldn't be here tonight if I wasn't," he murmured against her lips.

He pulled back to look into her gorgeous brown eyes. She saw nothing but truth shining in his blue ones.

"No, you would not," she acknowledged.

She lifted a hand to cup his jaw lovingly, her thumb stroking across his cheek, wonder creeping into her gaze.

"I feel like we belong together," she revealed softly. "For-" She paused. "For a really, really long time."

"Got that right," he agreed, catching her hand in his and pressing a kiss to her palm. "Forever might do it, but the results on that aren't in yet. Might need you for longer than that."

She adored the twinkle in his eyes as much as she adored him.

A beautiful smile curved her very kissable lips as she tightened her arms around his neck.

"Forever sounds perfect," Ziva whispered, drowning in his gaze.

Gibbs looked at her for a moment, drinking her in. He smoothed a hand over her hair before cupping his hand behind her neck.

"I love you, Ziva," he said clearly, wanting her to know exactly where he stood.

"I love you, too," she returned, meeting his lips in a series of ever-deepening kisses.

The job would need sorted out eventually, but for now they simply concentrated on losing themselves in each other. Tonight had made it clear to them both that they belonged together. The rest would take care of itself.

_~The End~_


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